“Sat on it?” scoffed the albino.
“Fed it too much fudge,” said the round girl.
Suddenly all three girls stopped in their tracks and craned their heads to Sophie. They broke into toothy smiles and dropped into their seats in unison, hands folded over their bags.
“Sorry we’re late,” said tattooed Hester.
“Castor made us clean up after a dragon in Henchmen,” said albino Anadil.
“Dragons poo a lot,” said paunchy Dot, mouth full.
Sophie nearly leapt off the desk to hug her old roommates. “Oh praise heavens! My real friends,” she beamed, so relieved to see the three smiley witches against the sea of snarls. “At least someone’s happy to see me!”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Hester mumbled. She started opening her book bag—then noticed the furious faces around her.
“Oh here we go,” she moaned. “For the last time, you’re all in the School for Evil now and that means you’re fighting for Evil. Look at me: Aric stabbed a blade in my stomach during the Trial and now I obey his every word. You want to stay alive? You want the sun to stop melting? Then do what the teachers say and help Sophie kill Agatha and Tedros.”
“I thought Agatha was your friend,” Ravan sniped.
“Excuse me? These are my friends,” Hester said, pointing to Anadil and Dot with a glowing red fingertip. “The coven everyone fears and yet wants to be in. The clique that doesn’t give a damn what you think. The sinful, sinistral, all-around-original Three Witches of Room 66.”
“Dot’s even fat again,” Anadil quipped.
Dot frowned.
“Sure, Agatha was likable in a handicapped-dog kind of way,” Hester went on, “but I learned my lesson when I almost died at Aric’s hands defending her. All I ever wanted was for Evil to have a normal school again, where we learn Evil things and learn to be better villains than my incompetent mother was. And now because of Sophie, we don’t just have one Evil school, we have two.”
“Plus for the first time, villains can have a Never After!” Dot reveled. “You know what that means, don’t you?” She gave Ravan a wink. “Evil Valentine’s Day!”
Ravan gagged.
“And if we don’t want love, that’s fine too,” said Anadil, with a repulsed look. “Once Sophie’s storybook closes, Evil will prove it can win, with villains no longer cursed to die.”
“Here’s to free Evil!” hollered Hester.
“Here’s to free will!” hooted Dot.
“Here’s to Queen Sophie!” Anadil proclaimed, banging fists loudly on her desk, as Hester and Dot chanted and three black rats squeaked: “Here’s to Queen Sophie! Here’s to Queen Sophie!”
No one else joined them.
“Did the ‘Bring Good Back’ cheer already, didn’t they?” Dot sighed.
Sophie smiled at her three witch champions. At least she knew who wasn’t the spy.
The door flew open behind her and an obese pink flamingo stumbled in—or rather most of an obese pink flamingo, since a dog head was attached to its body, trying and failing to navigate it. “Apologies for the late arrival,” he smarmed, resting awkwardly against a wall. “Castor was feeling ill, so I took over his Henchmen class and led the students in a rousing anthem I’ve composed for Lord Aric, our illustrious Dean. Would you like to hear it? It’s best performed by a 52-piece symphony and soprano choir, but I’m sure I can replicate the effect—”
He saw Sophie at the teacher’s desk. “Oh. Hello . . . former student,” the dog sniffed.
Sophie glowered at Pollux, one half of a two-headed Cerberus who routinely lost the battle to use their body to his rabid brother Castor. She could have gone the rest of her life without seeing this oily, spineless, brown-noser again, who’d clearly buttered up Aric in order to avoid being imprisoned with the rest of the Good teachers, just like he’d buttered up Evelyn Sader last year to avoid being evicted with the Boys. Even worse, Pollux was clearly lying about why he was late, since her three witch friends said they were just helping Castor clean up dragon poo.
“Would you like to take a seat amongst your kind?” Pollux jabbed, as if reading her thoughts. “I assumed you’d leave the class to me since it has been mine the past few weeks.”
“I’m quite fine where I am,” Sophie retorted, suddenly happy to be a teacher if it meant riling up this boob. She turned back to the class. “Might you tell me what you’ve been learning, students?”
“The Tale of Sophie and Agatha, inside and out,” said Hort, rolling into the room without books or a bag, his hand slid up his shirt, showing off his rippled stomach. “You know, trying to spot Agatha’s and Tedros’ weaknesses, so we can kill ’em and finally stop being losers.” He dropped into a seat, blew his dark bangs out of his glittering black eyes, and stretched his chest with a yawn.
Sophie goggled at Hort’s broad shoulders, casual stubble, and laid-back slouch. In a month, he’d gone from wimpy, earnest pipsqueak to teenage heartthrob. She noticed all the other girls slyly checking him out, Evers and Nevers both. It must be a makeover spell, she thought, watching him toss his hair. Or a twin brother or a deal with the devil or something . . . Hort caught her looking and scowled at her murderously like he had in the foyer. Sophie stiffened and pretended to listen to Pollux.
“As Hort points out, the first week we did a unit on Tedros’ shortcomings as a prince,” the dog said, plopping on the teacher’s desk and shoving Sophie over. He waved a wing and the lollipop colors on the walls rearranged to scenes of Tedros’ worst moments from The Tale of Sophie and Agatha. “And what did we learn class? Yes, Hester!”
“He has serious daddy issues,” Hester said, leering at a painting of Tedros killing a gargoyle in Merlin’s menagerie.
“Excellent! Yes, Anadil?”
“He doesn’t trust girls since his mother left him,” said the albino, pointing at a painting of Tedros shooting an arrow at Agatha in Evil’s Grand Hall.
“Spot on! Yes, Dot?”
“He’s obsessed with swords,” chimed Dot, nodding at a scene of Tedros almost kissing Filip in a forest.
Pollux blinked at her. “Moving on to our challenge . . .”
Thoughts of Hort fell away as Sophie studied the painting of her and Tedros together when she was Filip. He’d been so vulnerable with her when she was a boy, so nurturing and soft, and she’d seen the real Tedros underneath his macho facade. They’d become so close in that short time, blood and soul mates, like she and Agatha once upon a time. Sophie blushed, reliving the moment when he finally touched her in the Blue Forest. It was all based on a lie, of course. Tedros would have never opened up to her if he’d known who she was. She’d lost that Tedros forever . . . that perfect, beautiful boy who’d tried to kiss his best friend . . .
Sophie scorched red. Tedros wanted to kill Rafal and she was blushing over him?
You have a new love, she gritted, pinching her thigh hard. Stop thinking about old ones.
“So with all this in mind,” Pollux prattled, his bird bottom shunting Sophie to the edge of the desk, “today’s class challenge is to delve even deeper into Tedros’ mind. In a moment, all of you will be concealed under magical Tedros masks. Since Sophie insists on playing ‘teacher,’ she’ll be responsible for judging who most acts like the real prince. Whoever she deems the most Tedros-like wins first rank.” He rammed Sophie off the desk, knocking her to the floor.
“Shall we?” he snipped down at her.
A few minutes later, Sophie stood, blindfolded with a smelly black rag, as she listened to students rearrange seats.
The spy must be Tedros’ friend if they’re going to help him break in, she thought. And the spy is the only one who’s been in touch with him since he vanished. Which meant that whoever won this challenge, whoever knew Tedros well enough to mimic him, would surely be the prime suspect.
“Everyone find a new place? We don’t want Sophie remembering where you were,” Pollux’s voice called, before she heard the last backside plunk down. “Al
l right. The cloaking spell will cover your face in a phantom mask. Don’t touch or it might glue to your face permanently. You hear me? Don’t touch.”
“This school is so unsafe,” Reena’s voice crabbed.
“Ready?” Pollux said. “One . . . two . . . three—”
Sophie heard a loud, windy crack, and then dead quiet.
“The masks are hot,” Ravan’s voice grumped.
“And blond,” Hester’s voice groaned.
“Shhhhh!” hissed Pollux. “Sophie, on your mark . . . get set . . . go!”
Sophie flung off the blindfold.
If she’d blushed pink before looking at Tedros’ face on the walls, now she was as pink as Pollux’s feathers.
There were forty Tedroses seated in front of her, reflecting back his crystal-blue eyes, fluffy gold locks, and tan, flawless skin. Yet, there was a strange haziness to the faces, rubbery thick and oddly luminous at the edges, so she couldn’t discern the necks and clothes beneath the masks. Some of the Tedroses were smiling, some sneering, some frosty and blank eyed, but as she scanned the sum of these gorgeous princes, Sophie felt her cheeks burning even hotter.
Stop blushing, you idiot! Tedros isn’t your friend anymore! No, he was the boy who’d rejected her for her best friend; the boy who wanted to kill her true love; the poster boy for Good who had a spy working against her in this very room . . .
“Well?” Pollux huffed.
Sophie braced herself and waded into the sea of princes. One by one, she analyzed them, but it only took seconds to see the fraudulence each time. The smile was too snarky or dopey, his posture too rigid or slouched or there was a flicker of self-doubt—a hang of the head, a bob of the throat—that the real Tedros never had. One Tedros nearly fooled her in the second row, but he flinched as she made eye contact, and the real Tedros would have held his stare, strong and unyielding, until your heart turned to putty and you were his. None of the others around him even came close and soon she was in the final row, no closer to finding Good’s spy . . . until the last Tedros stopped her cold.
She locked into his steady blue eyes, sparkling with mischief. He bit his juicy lower lip and cocked a brow, almost more Tedros than Tedros himself, and Sophie felt a flash of fire rip through her body.
This one, she thought, girding her loins. This is the one that knows him best. This is the spy.
She leaned in teasingly, daring the spy at his or her own game. But the closer she drew, the more she felt the warmth off the prince’s dewy skin and smelled that stirring mix of mint and wood, until Sophie’s heart began to hammer and she knew this wasn’t a spy—this was him, the real him, and he’d ditched Agatha to be with her! Stunned, panicked, exhilarated, she hugged him with a gasp: “Teddy, it’s you!”
Rubber instantly melted to skin and Hort glared back at her.
“Don’t touch.”
Sophie recoiled in shock—
A “1” rank exploded over Hort’s head in a crown of green smoke, as rankings popped up over everyone else, their masks melting away over their usual faces.
“Well done, Hort!” Pollux said. “You’ll no doubt help our queen kill the real Tedros.”
“No doubt,” said Hort, still staring daggers at Sophie.
“I’m so going to end up a pea shoot,” Kiko mewled behind him, a black-cloud “20” raining on her head.
Sophie was in such a fog that by the time she’d gathered her wits, the fairies had clamored and the students were all rushing out the door into the crowded hall. Punch-drunk, she lumbered after them still trying to grasp how Hort had become Tedros and Tedros back to Hort and why she’d tried to hug Tedros at all—
Three witches suddenly scooted past her doorway.
“Almost caught us on dragon poo!” Dot whispered.
“I told you we should have a different excuse,” Hester growled.
“No one noticed a thing,” shushed Anadil.
Sophie shook off her daze and hurried after her former roommates, eager to debrief like they always did. “Hey! Wait up!” she called excitedly—
But instead of waiting, the three witches stopped dead at the sound of her voice and scurried ahead even faster than before.
Alone in the doorway, Sophie watched them blend into the black-robed mob, her smile slowly flattening, at a loss to explain why her only three friends at this school had just acted like they weren’t her friends at all.
13
Too Many Boys
Normally teachers at the School for Good and Evil taught multiple sessions, but Lady Lesso had given Sophie only one, which the Dean had filled with students who knew Agatha and Tedros best. But as the next class began, Sophie wandered through Hansel’s Haven, no closer to finding out who the spy was or how the two Evers planned to get in.
It can’t be Hort, even though he’d won the challenge, for he’d always hated Tedros and had no incentive to help him.
But who then? Who would risk their lives to help Good slay Rafal? Who would risk their lives to help Good win her back?
She roamed past classrooms, peeking through doors at teachers preparing students to ambush Agatha and Tedros. In Uglification, Professor Manley led students in a Camouflage Challenge that magically blended them into school furnishings in order to surprise the enemy; in History, Rafal lectured the students on ways intruders had once tried to break into the School for Good and Evil; in Special Talents, Professor Sheeks hosted an open-sparring tournament where students deployed their special talents against each other; and out in the Blue Forest, Aric forced students through a boot-camp obstacle course, while fairies stung anyone who lagged behind.
Standing on the third-floor balcony, Sophie marveled at Aric, hulking and sweat-soaked in his sleeveless shirt, barking orders at his students. For a murderous, cretinous thug, he was sickly good-looking.
Her face reddened. Did I just have that thought?
Aric suddenly looked up at her, as if he was inside her head, and gave her a knife-edged smile.
A hand touched her and Sophie screamed.
“Glad to know I’m still scary,” Rafal smirked.
Sophie stared at her handsome young beau, his shirt strings untied. “Sorry . . . was just . . .”
Rafal glanced down and saw Aric in her sightline. The young School Master stopped smiling. “How did class go?”
Sophie noticed Hort over his shoulder, as Beatrix flirted with him in a corner.
“Sophie?”
“Mmm?”
Rafal caught her glancing at Hort. Sophie instantly looked back at Rafal. “Oh! Lovely! Class was just lovely,” she blithered.
The School Master frowned. “Look, I have to go in, but I’ll see you at lunch. We have a private spot on the balcony—”
But now Sophie was staring at Reena and Ravan as they walked by, both wearing white swan pins that said “Bring Good Back!” with Tedros’ handsome face painted on them. The prince was painted so heroically, so dashingly, that Sophie’s heart ignited—
Rafal spun and the two kids’ pins instantly reverted to black swans with Rafal’s young face and the words “Evil Rules!” He narrowed his eyes and turned to Sophie.
“You seem distracted,” he said icily.
“Me? No, no—” Sophie forced a cough. “Just tired. You know, still recovering from being sick . . .”
Rafal’s gem-blue eyes sliced into hers, as if shaking down her soul, and Sophie’s stomach twisted. She kissed him on the cheek, squeezing his arm. “I’ll see you at lunch, okay?”
Rafal searched her face a long moment . . . then softened. “Don’t be late. I’ll be waiting for you.” He touched his cold fingers to her lips.
Sophie watched him head into his classroom, making sure to give him a bright smile and wave as he went inside . . .
The moment his door closed, she took off like a hare, scampering straight out of Hansel’s Haven, desperately in need of a place to think.
Rafal was right. She was distracted, suddenly unable to pay attention to her o
ne true love, the true love whose ring she was wearing, the true love she’d fought her whole story to find. And she was distracted by the same thing that had distracted her from the day she was born—
Boys.
Too many boys.
Sophie shut the frosted door behind her and stood in cold, gray sunshine on the roof of the old Honor Tower. Slouching against black glass, she looked out at the Endless Woods beyond the slimy green bay, hidden beneath weakly lit skies that made morning look like dusk. With a deep breath, she pulled herself up and headed towards Merlin’s Menagerie, the topiary tribute to King Arthur that had always been her and Agatha’s favorite spot to think—
Her eyes widened.
The hedges of the menagerie no longer reflected King Arthur’s story—but his son’s instead. Sophie moved through the garden, taking in scenes of barechested Tedros meeting Agatha for the first time, Tedros asking Agatha to the Evers Snow Ball, Tedros rescuing thorn-gashed Agatha from the Endless Woods . . .
Why would the School for Evil celebrate a Good love story? she thought, studying Agatha in Tedros’ arms. Old pangs of jealousy stirred and she tried to hold them down, reminding herself that Tedros wasn’t her true love anymore. He was Agatha’s. Like Rafal is mine.
And yet, ten minutes later, she was still drifting through hedges and poring over every inch of Tedros and Agatha’s romantic memorial, unable to tear herself away, before she arrived at the final sculpture of the prince and princess, wrapped in their first kiss beneath a willow.
Strange, wasn’t it, Sophie thought, moving closer. She’d kissed Agatha . . . Agatha had kissed Tedros . . . and yet, she’d never kissed Tedros. And she never would. Because he was the enemy now, he was the villain . . . and besides, she had her own boy to kiss . . . a boy so much fairer and smarter and better than the one Agatha was kissing right in front of her . . . So why was she on tiptoes, then, inhaling the smell of their minty kiss, touching a gold-ringed finger to her friends’ locked lips—
Her fingertip burst into a violent, blistering rash.